Today's poem is by Victoria Chang
To wait is to want more.
Or to think you want more.
Take a look backyard for the stitches
that seam everything together.
It's unruly back there, yes, but
when there is time, weeds
want and want, an infinite
accordianto want what they
cannot have, no mirrors
to show them how they look or
lie. How many toys
do children need? For my home,
a rug, yoga mat, clear wax
candles, bath rack with bubble
crystals, a man. You are not for sale,
but other women do not
know this. You do not bother
telling them. I am tempted
to dial each of them up, to inform
them (because of my compassion)
of their safety violation. Wait.
Dig a garden. Always pick up the phone
when you call. Eat only junk food.
Buy a strange pet with short legs.
Copyright © 2005 Victoria Chang All rights reserved
Southern Illinois University Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
Support Verse Daily
Sponsor Verse Daily!
Web Monthly Features
About Verse Daily
Submit to Verse Daily
Publications Noted & Received
Copyright © 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005 Verse Daily
All Rights Reserved
Copyright © 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005 Verse Daily All Rights Reserved